


I Hope That I Don't Fall In Love With You

by PaladinGabe



Series: Drunk On The Moon [1]
Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Attempted One Night Stand, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Depression, Emotional Baggage, Emotionally Repressed, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, POV First Person, Robert's pov, Sexual Fantasy, Shallow Personality, Spoilers, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 12:23:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11623458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaladinGabe/pseuds/PaladinGabe
Summary: Robert's usual trip to the bar to drink away his problems abruptly ends when his new neighbor attempts small talk over The Game. It turns into a night with a turn of events that he never expected in a thousand years.





	I Hope That I Don't Fall In Love With You

**Author's Note:**

> My first story for the DDADDS Fandom! I hope you guys enjoy! Also, I definitely love Robert Small way too much for my own good.
> 
> I wrote this based off a [headcanon](http://tiff-the-little-wanderer.tumblr.com/post/163346564518/heacanon-robert-gets-surprised-when-you-tell-him) I made a little bit ago. It's basically what I think is going through Robert's head during the bar scene when you tell him "No Thank You" and don't give in to sleeping with him. And I continuously gush over it on twitter.  
> I also have a [Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/wanderingtiff/playlist/6xCW7xRlk8boCLNzTZ4RfK) that I use to try and create anything related to Robert.
> 
> ALSO fyi, every story I'd do anything Robert-centric will have a title named after a Tom Waits song. I don't make the rules.

“Hey, _Dad? It’s Val. I have some free time in a couple weeks, so I’m available to come up to Maple Bay to visit. Unless if you’re not into that? That’s fine. Gimme a call if you want me there. ‘Kay? Goodbye.”_

_\--_

_I rarely listen to my voicemail._ People only contact you over the phone if they wanna sell something, nowadays. A tell-tale message I’ve heard this evening on the phone is part of the reason why I’m here at Jim and Kim’s.

It’s honestly my favorite place in this town now. Neighbors tend to be a despicable nuisance, so there’s no other way I’d rather spend my evening than with a bottomless shot glass of Whiskey and watching Mary pick on her latest victims. It’s a pastime, really.

I don’t know why Val called. I haven’t seen her in three… four years? Maybe. Once I start the line of shots, whiskey makes my past hazy. Years are melded together in a grotesque blend. It just means the alcohol is doing its job. She’s had no interest in even calling the landline since Marilyn…

I down my shot in one swift gulp. I’m numb to the burn and beckon to Neil for another one.

Anyways, I’m not sure if I should call her back. I’ve already fucked up my relationship with her as it was, and I’m not sure why she’s even bothering giving me another chance. She should be focusing on how well her life is going, not feeling the need to come back even if it’s just for a visit. I’m so proud of her, and I’d rather have her keep her current disdain towards me and not make it worse.

I hear Mary trying to entice her latest victim, and I can’t help but turn my attention away from my wallowing to watch her. I’d invited her to come along with me for drinks, since we’ve built up a routine of getting away from our problems together. But we often find ourselves splitting up. Her latest catch looks familiar, though. I remember seeing him at the Coffee Spoon, and now is a great time to see how clear-minded he is.

The Game’s on in the background. That’s what I’d been focusing on while my mind began to buzz from the whiskey. Of course, my team isn’t doing so well. I have a feeling they’ll pull through, though. It’s what I choose to focus on now. It increases my desensitization for the evening.

Something from the foreground distracts me. As my attention grows wary, I briefly hear Mary’s disgruntled muttering. Looks like that guy isn’t interested in her charm. Or he’s gay. Same difference.

Another shot of whiskey gets guzzled down, and while I feel the guy’s presence a couple seats away from me, I’m not just going to jump some random stranger’s bones. I like to think I have standards.

Clearly, I don’t. That’s all been thought up ironically.

Finally, I see some action in my Team’s favor. It took them long enough. I celebrate by gesturing for another shot from Neil. My tab at the end of the night is gonna be mighty high.

They’re in the lead. About time. I always knew that skilled player had it in them to give us fans something to celebrate. I hear a bunch of guys in the bar let out their little cheers and pass around money while they’d been gambling on The Game. Rooting for them alone has a stress-free quality to it.

“Go Team,” I mutter while taking my celebratory shot.

It’s not going to be long before The Game’s over. Not to get my hopes high or anything, but we’re gonna win this one. I have a gut feeling, and I’m positive it’s not my liver screaming in agony.

“Enjoying The Game?”

The voice isn’t familiar to me. I turn my head, and I realize it’s the guy from the Coffee Spoon. Why is he talking to me? I’d been busy here brooding. I haven’t filled in my quota yet for today.

“I am, now that we’re winning.” Small talk is the absolute worst. I’m hoping that after seeming standoffish he’d leave me alone. I’m not in the mood for it right now. I’m trying to count how many shots it takes to forget Val’s phone call and Marilyn.

There isn’t enough alcohol in this world that could poison my blood while simultaneously make me never think of the shitty way I treated the concept of family and my wife ever again. But the temporary haze is worth keeping it at bay. I need to feed the fire and quench the dry pit in my stomach I get every time I think of my family.

“Oh. We must be rooting for different teams.”

I turn to him from my stool. He’s broken me off from my thoughts faster than I thought anyone could. Might as well humor him. “In my opinion, my team is far superior.”

“I’d have to disagree with that,” the man then shrugs. I’m just finding it curious that he even wants to have a conversation like this without a bragging undertone. “Based upon our win/loss record, I’d say that my team is superior.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” I say curtly, “since as it stands right now, my team is beating yours.”

I think he gets the idea that I’m not one to talk, because that’s where we stop the conversation. But even while we’ve both become square-eyed watching the Game unfold, it’s hard for me not to avert my eyes from the screen just to get a quick glance at him.

He’s attractive. And funny enough, for someone that probably lives fairly close to the cul-de-sac, he seems half decent. I’d seen him with his daughter. He must be a pretty good, well-put-together guy. The admiration sticks out within my attraction to him. It’s almost enough to make me feel a little happy. In fact, I think he could make me pretty happy after The Game.

Of course, my team loses The Game. It seems like a poor call to try and school this guy on which team is better when mine has been defeated.

Oh well.

I hear the quiet cheers, but it mixes in with the white noise quality of the music and indistinct chatter. I check with the guy next to me and raise my glass to him, just to see if he has anything to say to me. Usually this is the part where he’d gloat, especially since I made the bold claim that my team was better than his.

Much to my surprise, instead of doing that, he raises his glass to me. Such a respectful guy.

I wanna fuck him.

To form our truce, I raise my glass as well. It’s long since been empty, but a breather was needed. I slide over to the next stool to move closer to him. It’s my intention to make a move. There’s never any harm in that, right?

“The name’s Robert.”

He tells me his name as I lean against the bar from my stool, propping up my head with my arm. He looks shy, and I’m not sure if he’s genuinely my type. He’s a living body. That’s enough of a type for me to get me interested.

“You must be new here,” I hum. “Mary already hit on you?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s a peach.” I watch him nod and chuckle to myself. “Well, you picked the best bar in town. As slimy as it is, you’ll never find a better spot than Jim and Kim’s.”

He’s hesitant. Maybe he’s intimidated by me. Good.

“Is there actually a Jim or Kim that runs this place?”

Adorably naïve, as well.

“No. That’d be Neil,” I murmur and gesture to the man himself behind the bar. “Good guy, Neil. Not enough Neils in this world.”

His gulp is audible from my stool. “O…kay.”

“You a Whiskey fella or a Beer fella?” I question him while my liver is preparing for the next assault.

“Beer, but I’ll drink most things,” he mumbles.

“You like shots?” I press, hoping that he says yes. Maybe he’s the type willing to come home with little old me.

“I love shots.”

It’s music to my ears.

“Thank God.” When I gesture to Neil this time, he gives me two glasses. I move one over to this new acquaintance and raise it. “Here’s to your health.”

I down it just as quickly as any other. Watching him struggle to keep his own down is amusing. At least he doesn’t look like he’s dying.

He’s watching me, and while I could be annoyed that he’s been staring for too long, I can’t be bothered. I’m just trying to get myself ready for a mood. He tries complimenting me on my jacket and my “rugged good looks,” and it’s kinda funny that he’s interested in me, as well.

“So, what are you doing here tonight?” I’m going in for the kill.

He shrugs. “…The usual.”

I can’t help but grin. Glad to hear that we now have a seemingly mutual understanding. It seems like he wants it just as much as I do.

“I like your style,” I grin and get another round of shots. I’m satisfied, now. And after this night of thrill that I’ll be having, I’m going to complete the task of scaring away my demons until tomorrow. Then the cycle will continue all over again. I get up from my stool. “I'm gonna go powder my nose.”

I leave him there, and I just know that he’s going to stay there and wait for me. There isn’t a single doubt about it. But I can't stay alone for too long. The muffled music playing outside the restroom and the loneliness that immediately begins to eat me alive remind me that I'm due for some real... "company."

On nights like this, I feel the regret kicking in from past mistakes. I think of all those times I kept telling Val that I'd take her out the next day for ice cream, a trip to the store, or whatever she's pleading me to do with her, before going out for another night on the town and not coming home until three in the afternoon. That could've been one less reason for her to hate me, and I chose to spend my free time chasing and collecting memories that I thought were more important to me. How foolish of me.

I think of those evenings after where Marilyn begs me with the utmost concern that I need to clean up and think of our daughter. And every time that I've tried and failed to get better is always on the brain. I can't even clean up for her now, when I'm looking for something - anything, to make myself feel less like a piece of shit.

My head fogs up more, and there's another part of my body fighting away these dark truths and using unabashed lust to replace it. God, and I thought that I was suddenly doomed to be flaccid for the night.  _Oh yeah,_ I realize. There's someone out there waiting for me. It's now time to stop dwelling on regret and start preparing for business. And as I look at myself in the restroom's reflection, I focus a lot harder on thinking about all the things I could do to him once we leave this slimy bar. And I let these thoughts stick out from my betrayed conscience like a sore thumb.

I figure it’s not going to be that hard for him to get into the mood. I’ll take him into my house, and I intend to intoxicate him with my kisses. Knowing that Betsy’s going to be fast asleep when I get home, I won’t have to worry about this guy being too distracted by her to wanna continue.

I will take him upstairs and touch him all over. All bodies are the same, once you’ve been with enough of them. All the women and men I’ve been with were very responsive and eager for me to know what exactly they like. They’re easy. He’s going to be just as easy.

When I fuck him, I’m hoping that it’s going to be nothing like he’s ever experienced. Who knows, I might be the best he’s ever had. That’s a cute thought. I can’t help but wonder, if he’d be as vocally responsive as he would be sexually.

There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?

When I’m done with my business, I keep with that cool confidence. I think of this same route that I’ve been going on for countless nights over the past several years. Every one of them ended the same as the one before it. Hell, I even see a couple of the regulars that I’ve slept with as I’m walking right now. They know better than to talk to me. They look away from me while I go back to my stool and adjust my jacket.

“I’m gonna go home,” I hum. “You heading my way?”

He gives me an eager nod, and I feel triumphant as I pay my tab before leading him out of Jim and Kim’s.

\--

 _It’s going to be another good_ fucking night. He’s probably a lot better at sex than he seems. I can hear him already, panting hard and moaning my name. It’s not as satisfying as a historic voice that I’d all since grieved over for years, but it eases the holes in my heart for a brief amount of time. It’s just like any other man or woman I’ve been with, really.

Moans filled with elixir and kisses that deprive me of air are things that fuel me and keep me going. That kind of adrenaline makes me feel beyond satisfied. It can be classified as another addiction, I suppose. I _can_ live without it, but once I have it, I’m unable to stop until replenished.

The chain has been growing with links that stretch out miles long. I could probably go half-way around the globe with that kind of length.

I’m gonna fuck him so good, and tomorrow it will all be merely a blur of what I think is a memory but could possibly just be a fantasy.

I can’t wait for the sheen of sweat and the slurs of praises and pleas for me to fuck him while my mind’s been flooded and there’s more alcohol in my blood than humanly allowed. Just the thought of it always welcomes me, every time I bring someone home. Everything becomes this good, satisfying blur, and when it’s over I can move on, like nothing ever happened.

\--

 _All I’ve been thinking of in_ my head is all these scenarios as to how I can continue seducing this man. It’s all well planned out, now. I feel ready enough to break the silence between us that he’d graciously granted us by not trying to talk to me. I like him already. This is going to be a lot of fun.

“I live in this cul-de-sac down the way,” I tell him once we start to move closer.

“Me too,” he admits with a smile. “We just finished unpacking today.”

“Great place to be,” I admit. “Good neighbors. Well, some of them.”

In fact, there’s one name I can place right now at the top of my head. All fueled by suspicions, of course, but they’re not going to let up any time soon. And this guy doesn’t need to know about things like that—not when he’d just moved in.

“Who’s that?”

I sigh and get right up to my yard. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

He’s still right beside me. Perfect. Maybe I can just be blunt with him, seeing that he doesn’t seem to want to leave my side.

Then, by all means.

“So, are we doing this, or what?”

The innocent look he gives me could’ve knocked me over sideways if I wasn’t this damn drunk.

“What?” he presses.

“You know,” I mumble and gesture to my house. “Do you wanna come inside, or not?”

This always plays out in the same exact way, every time I’m with someone. I’m just waiting for either an eager yes, a smooth-talking reply, or maybe just a shy nod. Anything will do, so long as it’s affirmative. I’m ready to go!

“No, thanks.”

I don’t have enough time to double take. _No?_ He’s telling me _no?_

I’m not mad. Not at all. I’m just… no one has ever said they didn’t want to come inside before. He’s broken the mold. There’s now a missing link in the never-ending chain that I had, and in that split second, I feel like I’d been punched in the gut.

Hell, I’m not a good person. Everyone around here knows that I’m not a good person. And too many people around here that come to me only want the one thing that I will accept from them and gladly will oblige them. It seems like either this man is too prudish to go down with a man that he’d just met, or he genuinely wants to treat me like a fellow human being. I want to go with the latter.

For once, I’m a little apprehensive. Does this guy actually _want_ to get close to me? Is this something that he really wants? Does he _truly_ want to befriend someone like me? I feel like if he does, I’ll constantly be trying not to step on glass.

I’m willing to bet that so long as I don’t break boundaries and fuck up yet another attempt at growing with a person, and so long as he truly doesn’t have any further motives from me, then maybe I can at least… try.

“Ah, I’d better call it a night.”

His nervous smile brings me back to Earth. I’m hoping my face hasn’t faltered since I’d blacked out. That’d be embarrassing. But judging by his lack of concern, I guess it didn’t.

“Catch you around?” he asks cheerily.

I give him a grin. He’s surprised me. I like surprises.

“Sure.”

We say good night, and I watch him go over to his house, which is just a few places from mine.

I stumble in, and the emptiness I usually feel when the night doesn’t end with sex is replaced with this gentle warmth in a normally blackened heart. Or I pissed myself.

Betsy was startled awake when I came in, so I hear her little nails scratching against the floor as she scurries up to me. Judging that she’s not deterred by a sudden sense of smell, I’ll have to say that this warmth I feel in fact isn’t piss.

While I wait for the buzz of whiskey to leave my brain, I sit down with Betsy on my lap and put on _A Matter of Life and Death._ What I’d give for another film like that nowadays. Kids these days have no idea what they’re deprived of.

Before I doze off that night, I remember Joseph contacting everyone in the cul-de-sac on DadBook that he was throwing a barbecue to help welcome our new neighbor. I’d not wanted to go at first, and even if I did go, I’d probably try to talk to just Damien or Brian the whole time. But now that I’ve met this new neighbor and see that he has some decency trapped within that skull of his, I figure that that maybe it’d be fun if I went.

And I use the term “fun” _very_ loosely.

For once I don’t feel as scared to fall asleep, even after I’d started sobering up by a few fractions. All in all, it’s been a relatively good night. Let’s see how long this little high lasts me.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://tiff-the-little-wanderer.tumblr.com)   
>  [writing blog](http://flutefluffwrites.tumblr.com)   
>  [twitter](http://twitter.com/wandering_tiff)


End file.
